w 1 t n e s s

bonus chapter

griffin dewalt

I wasn't always this nervous. It felt obligatory now. It was the final test. The final matchup between a set of twins. Which one of us was considered 'better?' Which one of us would go first? I could look over at Blake. He was probably just as nervous. Though he showed his emotions a lot more. I had a good poker face. Mom attributed that feature to my Dad.

My knee bounced slightly. Mom caught the motion from her spot next to me. She lifted a hand to pat my arm comfortingly. I swallowed dryly, still waiting with a held breath along with the rest of the room. To my left, my Dad was staring ahead in his normal deadpan. I wondered if he remembered this day well. Did he remember sitting in my place, with sweaty hands and shaking knees? Had he been this nervous? We hadn't really discussed much on the way here. I could only go off the footage of the day he'd been selected.

It had been strange, really. To see how young and fresh-faced he had been. Naive and unknowing about the toils of a professional sports player. If you knew him well enough, you could catch the break in his poker expression and the choked emotion that crossed his face for a split second. You could see that he wasn't all stone.

That day had been such a crucial point in his life. A day that marked the beginning of the career of the best hockey player in the history of the NHL. It had kickstarted the record breaking rookie season, followed by six Stanley Cups and a ridiculous number of records set. By the time he retired at thirty eight, my Dad had surpassed Wayne Gretzky on the all time points list, all time goals, and was setting new point numbers for every season. A hell of a career. How in the world was I supposed to live up to that?

Hunter had done it. He'd proven that he was a crazy good player who deserved the name Dewalt. The previous year, Hunter had been the first overall pick. His method of playing was fast, sharp, and lethal. Comparable to my Dad's old teammate Patrick Kane. Hunter was a winger, skinny and lithe, but with the smoothest hands and silkiest mitts. He'd surpassed the reported failures that the community had been sure would happen. They'd predicted another Gretzky family flop. Hunter had disproven them with one hundred and twenty points in his rookie season, brushing right up against the previous rookie holders of that spot. Clinched the Calder, won the Art Ross. No big deal.

I wasn't the same kind of player Hunter was. I was a lot taller than my older brother, and stronger. Though he would never admit it, I'd been bigger than him by the time we hit middle school. I wasn't confrontational like he was, but he always found himself in trouble. It was up to Blake and I to back him up half the time. Size was the only thing Blake and I had in common.

I swallowed again, looking past Dad at Blake. My twin was glowering at the stage, his dark eyebrows set in a harsh line. So much for not showing emotion, Blake. Where I knew I looked pale and slightly uneasy, he looked pissed off.

After what felt like hours, the commissioner of the NHL stepped onto the stage. I let out a slow breath. After these next words, one of us would be leaving as a Washington Capital. The other would be a New York Ranger. Either way, we'd promised we'd be happy for each other. We'd worked just as hard as the other to get here. My Mom's hand came to squeeze my own as the general manager cleared his throat. Hunter leaned forward from beside her to leer at me. I ignored him.

"On behalf of the Washington Capitals organization, the team would like to select, from the London Knights of the OHL, Griffin Dewalt."

My relief was profound. Mom cheered, throwing her arms around me. I hugged her back, kissing her cheek lightly. I shook Hunter's hand, then turned back to my Dad and twin. Dad ignored the handshake, pulling me in for a hug. I could see Blake's face over his shoulder. He was smiling ruefully, the emotion not full reaching his eyes. When I hugged him, he murmured in my ear.

"I'm proud. You deserve it bud. Kick ass with them, eh?" He slapped my back roughly. I could only smile apologetically at him before turned and making my way to the steps. It was surreal to pull my suit jacket off and climb the steps to the stage. When I was handed the red jersey, reality set in.

I'd been drafted first. A kid that hadn't really liked hockey until I was seven. I'd edged out my brother who was so much more devoted to the sport. It almost didn't seem fair. I wanted to hand my jersey back and say 'This is all wrong. You've got the wrong brother. It's him you want. Not me.' I didn't. I couldn't. I was committed. There was no going back.

blake dewalt

I'd never experienced heartbreak before, but knowing I wasn't good enough hurt. Of course, the draft didn't mean that and I was still amazing and yada yada. That's what Mom said. I couldn't help but feel inferior either way. Sure, I could take into account the fact that Washington needed forwards and not defense and New York needed defense and not forwards. But still. Being first was coveted. I wanted to be number one. Not the brother that's always known as inferior.

I felt like I was already stuck with it. The forgotten twin who wasn't as good. It had been that way my whole life. I was always loud and tried to get people's attention, but they gravitated to perfect Griffin without a second glance.

He was Momma's golden boy. Bright blonde hair that was never messy and blue eyes to match. He was quiet and thoughtful. He didn't get angry like Hunter and I did. He didn't make stupid decisions and get into bad situations. Mom swore she didn't have favorites, but it was obvious that wasn't true.

Maybe that was why everyone liked him. He was Mom through and through. Smart and dedicated like she was. If he hadn't gone with hockey, he could've gone Ivy League without a question. Maybe he would've become a biologist like Mom. Golden boy with golden talents and a golden mind. Hunter and I were versions of our Dad. Identical hair and identical eyes. The only thing that set us apart was the body build. Hunter resembled Mom and her side of the family more than Dad. He was a spitting image of Uncle Mason, with shorter legs and torso. His fiery attitude made up for lack of brute strength.

I was the outlier. Build like Dad's but the personality of a potato. At least, that was what one girl had told me in passing when I'd asked for her number. Before she found out who my Dad was, anyway.

And that was me. The secondary choice in a family of stellar credentials. A boring repeat of my older brother. Nothing amazing to look at, no stunning skills to catch the eye. What did I get for choosing defense? I should've been a goalie. Dad's friend Elvis had always encouraged it, after all. Guy was pretty smart and had been at my father's side for two of the five Stanley Cups. Maybe I should've listened to him.

As resentful as I was of my twin, I couldn't help but be proud at the same time. If anyone was going to be picked over me, I wanted it to be the person I'd grown up with. I wanted it to be the brother I'd battled with for years on the ice. At least one of us would keep the Dewalt name at the top of the charts. I was disappointed but I would get over it eventually.

I would get to play against both of my brothers in this upcoming season. All three of the new generation of Dewalt's, fighting for victory against each other. Washington, New York, and Tampa Bay. Three very different cities with different hockey cultures.

I almost wished one of us had been taken by Chicago. The city was so familiar to all three of us. Dad playing for Chicago was our earliest memory. And one of the latest. Dad had played in the league right up until Griffin and I were fifteen. It was the year before we left to join Hunter in London to play for the Knights. I could remember the last game, the retirement ceremony, and the party we'd had after at our house just outside the city.

I remember how sad the fans were. How sad Mom and Dad both were. The Dewalt name had impacted the hockey world stronger than we'd ever thought it could. I just hoped my brothers and I could keep that legacy going.

I wanted to be that player that kids pointed out with a smile on their face. I wanted to be the player that people got jerseys of and cheered for at every game.

I could still be that, even if I wasn't the first pick. The thought made me smile as the General Manager of the New York Rangers stood up and announced my name.

I was Blake Dewalt, second overall pick. And it was ok.